


The Week We Almost Lived Dangerously

by summerstorm



Category: Disney RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, Pining, failed attempts at things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-26
Updated: 2009-05-26
Packaged: 2017-10-05 10:55:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerstorm/pseuds/summerstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Demi nods, tries to smile. On the other hand, Selena's distraction is useful as a means to let Demi off the hook. If she doesn't smile sincerely, Selena's so psyched about Nick she won't even notice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Week We Almost Lived Dangerously

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a ficlet-type thing, it just turned into 5,000 words. For all intents and purposes, it's still just a sketch.

Demi cheers in her spare time.

People tend to assume that just because she can be seen in that stupid yellow and blue uniform during lunch break, her entire life revolves around the perks of being a cheerleader, but it totally doesn't. She cheers in her spare time—she cheers because it's one more thing to add to her record and because, unfortunately, Cheerleader Privilege is not a myth. She's not a natural born leader, but Miley Cyrus is, and being friends, even by proxy, with the captain of the cheerleading squad goes a long way.

For instance, if Demi was just another band geek or whatever, no one would come to the open mike nights she organizes at Selena's mom's café. Even like this, the ones singing are usually just Demi and a couple other people—people who're just passing town on a road trip, sometimes Selena on a stool beside her, singing a duet—but the place fills up and Demi's heard, which was, despite how self-absorbed Demi feels it is, the main reason Selena convinced her mom to install a small stage in the café.

At first it's just the regulars—they're not there for the music, but they listen, and after a few weeks they even remember and ask for songs she's played before. Then Miley chooses a Tuesday to come by with the squad's collective designs for the new pom-poms and catches Demi on stage, playing piano, loudspeakerless music for the lunch crowd.

Demi stops suddenly, and half the customers notice, turn to her. She smiles a nervous smile as she gets off the stage.

"Hi, Miley," she says.

Miley looks at her with a mischievous, plain old shit-eating grin on her face.

"What?"

"Demetria Lovato!" she tsks. "Why didn't you tell me you sang, girl?"

"I don't do go-team stuff," Demi says quickly, like you'd pull off a band-aid.

Miley shakes her head and chuckles. "Of course not. I just heard you, you'd depress the team."

"Okay," Demi says, ducking her head.

"You're still doing the—thing with the—pom-poms, right?" Miley says, handing her the folders she's carrying.

"The ballots. For—yeah, actually, it's Selena who offered to—"

"Right, whatever, just get them done," Miley says, still smiling. "So you sing, huh?"

"We just established that."

Miley ignores her. "Do you do, like, concerts? Or is it just ambience, piano stuff?"

"I usually do guitar on Thursdays," says Demi.

Miley raises an eyebrow.

"Open mike night. It's—I'm usually the only one who sings."

And that's why Miley somehow manages to convince the entire team, their friends, the cheerleading squad and basically everyone she deems cool enough to go by Mandy's Café on Thursday and 'cheer the cheerleader on'.

Demi's not entirely sure she appreciates the gesture—it feels more spotlight-y than ever, doing this in front of people she sees almost every day—but she knows better than to rebuke the cheer captain for something she's done out of the goodness of her heart.

Most of them think it's karaoke night when they show up, but they stick around, and Demi eventually becomes the official date-night serenader for jocks who think Mandy's Café is a good spot to bring girls for try-out, pseudo-dates on weekdays. One week Selena records and mixes a bunch of Demi's songs, burns them onto CDs and leaves them all on a pile by the door—and to Demi's surprise, over two thirds of them have disappeared by the end of the night.

Even Nick Jonas, who Selena's had a crush on for ages, picks one, and comes by the next day to compliment Selena on her—audio prowess or something, Demi's not sure, but it has to do with whatever Selena did to one of her songs.

"Oh my God," Selena says when he's gone. She's sitting at the bar and has seemingly forgotten she ordered a glass of lemonade over half an hour ago.

Demi nods, tries to smile. On the other hand, Selena's distraction is useful as a means to let Demi off the hook. If she doesn't smile sincerely, Selena's so psyched about Nick she won't even notice.

"He just—" Selena says, signaling at the door, unable to finish the sentence. "Oh my God."

Selena's not usually like this. She's top of her class, has placed in the top three in the last four science fairs the school has held, and she has a knack for reorganizing the ins and outs of any computer that comes within three feet of her hands. If you catch her on a Nickless day, she's even a bit of a cynic, the kind of person who doesn't believe in fairytale princes and proclaims loud and clear that women don't need men to be fulfilled, that they can and should give their own lives meaning. She's a good friend, too, has supported Demi through everything and even joined the cheerleading squad when Demi did so Demi wouldn't feel alone. Selena left shortly afterwards for several reasons, a short list of them, but Demi's almost sure it was mostly her irrational aversion to Miley for dating Selena's long-time crush, though Selena won't admit to it, and if Selena won't, Demi's not gonna push her. Not on this one.

Demi has never been in denial about Selena—she just thought she'd have some more time to sort her feelings out, maybe tell her, let her make of them what she would without a boyfriend to get past. But now Nick and Miley are on a break, and Selena's gotten a new haircut that looks absolutely beautiful on her, and Nick's paying attention.

Demi really didn't anticipate how awful it is to pretend to be excited for your friend when all you really feel is a need to dismember that Jonas baby out of sheer jealousy.

"I know," Demi says instead. "I told you it was just a matter of time until he finally noticed how cool you are. He'd have to blind and deaf not to."

She kinda wouldn't mind being both blind and deaf right now.

 

*

 

Demi's gone through two iPods this semester. She always remembers to eject the device before unplugging it, but the thing still manages to crash when she least expects it.

Sometimes she thinks she should maybe stop calling them "Baby", because when she thinks 'baby' she automatically thinks 'Selena', in her head, and it would be truly pathetic if this was some kind of sign, like not even the iPod version of Selena wants her, not the way Demi wants her—it?—back.

She's thinking about that, sitting on the bleachers while Miley and Jennifer do their "it's my turn to be up front" routine, when Joe Jonas—college freshman, coaches the high school volleyball team on occasion, for all the good it does—walks up to her.

"This seat taken?" he says, pointing at the space beside her.

She grabs her earphones and says it's not.

"You okay?"

Demi's not sure why Joe always feels the need to ask if she's okay. There was that whole thing last year when both Taylor and her understudy couldn't make it to the Christmas play and somehow—her theory's she was backstage waiting for Selena and Joe remembered her from auditions or something, and there wasn't time to look further than that—Demi got asked to step in. She spent the majority of an entire week rehearsing in the theater, half the time only with Joe and David Henrie, who played her leading man, so she wouldn't suck too much on opening night, but that doesn't usually guarantee a senior will take you under his wing like Joe has.

Literally, too, Demi thinks as Joe wraps an arm around her. "How many times do I have to tell you you're better than that?"

"Better than what?"

"Better than whatever's got you down," Joe says firmly. "Better than being down, for that matter."

"I'm fine," Demi says, though the lack of firmness in her own voice betrays her.

"You're not gonna give me a hint?" Joe asks, like he's heard something else entirely. "Not even a little one."

Demi looks up from the apple on her iPod screen and repeats that she's fine.

"Come on, Lovato, you can't lie to me," says Joe. "Is it Miley? Is she taking advantage of you?"

Demi raises an eyebrow.

"In the field." Joe shakes his head.

"Miley's fine. She's just, you know. Miley. She's captain for a reason."

"She's captain because her dad donates a lot of money to the school, mostly."

"She's a good leader."

Joe raises his hands in surrender. "Fine. I was just trying to give you an excuse to bitch if you wanted to."

Demi smiles. "Thanks."

"So it's not Miley. It's—" Joe's eyes widen. "Don't tell me it's Selena."

"It's not," Demi lies. "We're fine."

"She's fine, you're not. This is because Nick talked to her, right? I tried to tell him not to, but I couldn't find a reason that wouldn't, you know."

"Out me?"

"Yeah." Joe looks at her like he's—scanning her face. It would be uncomfortable if it wasn't Joe doing it. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Not really," Demi says. "This thing crashed again." She picks up the iPod from her lap and shows it to Joe. It goes second - second - apple, rinse and repeat.

"Baby died again?"

"Unfortunately."

"Maybe it wouldn't leave you so often if you were honest with it," says Joe earnestly. "Maybe you should give it a real name instead of a generic codey nickname next time."

"Your analogies are ridiculously irritating, I hope you know that."

"Then don't give me starting points."

Demi looks at the field, where Miley and Jennifer seem to have decided on the same thing they always do. "Is Nick really—you know?"

"No I don't," Joe says with a frown.

"Interested. Is he really interested in Selena?"

"Frankly, I don't know," Joe says. "He still talks a lot more about Miley."

"Really?"

"For all I know, he may just wanna be friends with her. He's always been irrationally attracted to shiny things. Like a moth to the flame goes Nick to CDs. And people who know how to manipulate audio."

"Right," Demi says, not sure what to make of that.

"You should take Baby to the store," he says, standing up. "It's still under guarantee, right?"

Demi nods. "They'll just give me a new one."

Joe just chuckles. "Well, don't call it Baby this time."

 

*

 

Selena kicks in her sleep.

Demi knows this because, on the rare occasion Selena sleeps over at Demi's instead of the other way around, they share the one bed in her room, and in the morning Demi's legs are sore for all the wrong reasons.

"I don't know why my mom insists on having me sleep at your place when she's out of town," Selena complains. "I can take care of myself just fine."

"I think they're more worried about the house getting burned down than about you surviving their absence."

"You're the least supportive person ever," Selena says, wrinkling her nose.

"I just don't like being kicked out of bed in the middle of the night."

"You can always take the couch," Selena suggests nonchalantly.

"It's my house."

"And I'm a guest. You don't want a guest to parade around your house in pajama shorts, do you?"

Demi laughs in disbelief. "When was the last time you got dressed for breakfast?"

"Pancakes are more important than decency," Selena says, sticking out her ass.

It's kind of irritating that Demi can smack Selena's ass all the time, that she's even expected to smack Selena's ass, but she's not allowed to touch. It's the most unfair thing Demi can think of sometimes.

It would be weird if she stopped doing it, though, so she still does.

"I've chosen this awesome hairdo to try on you," Selena says, picking a magazine from Demi's desk. "Here."

The picture looks—is—a backcombed reject from the eighties. "Um, no."

"But it looks like fun to do!" Selena says.

"For you, not for me," says Demi. "I'm not your equalizer."

Selena gets a glint in her eye, the way she does when she tries to blackmail Demi into something. "I'll try not to kick in my sleep," she promises.

"How?"

Selena shrugs. "I'll find a way. Or I'll wear two extra pairs of socks so the kicks are cushiony."

"You'll still knee me."

"I'll wear socks on my knees. I'll tie them around them like knee pads. But cushiony on the outside," Selena says, nodding for effect. "Oh be my turntable tonight?"

Demi rolls her eyes. "Fine."

The problem is, she means it in more ways than Selena takes it.

 

*

 

Middle school would've been pretty hellish for Demi, except she met Selena on her second day.

Demi's best friend's dad had gotten a new job, and Demi's best friend had gotten a lot of new clothes, and now she looked over her shoulder at Demi and never let her catch up with her, both literally and metaphorically.

On her second day, Demi hadn't let Selena catch up with her either, even though Selena seemed like a sweet girl and eager to make friends. Still, that was when she had met her. And the following week, Demi'd had to look for something in class after the bell rang and had told her best friend at the time not to wait, and her best friend at the time hadn't waited.

That was the first time she walked home with Selena.

The next day, Demi's not-best-friend-anymore had totally ignored her at lunch, and Selena had made goofy faces so Demi wouldn't cry. It was something, drifting away from your best friend like that, so suddenly, so much like an unplanned accident, and when said not-best-friend-anymore had started spreading rumors to make herself look better about blowing Demi off—because kids in middle school were more perceptive of drama than one sometimes expected—Demi had denied them all.

Including the one about Demi being a huge lesbo who'd tried to kiss and feel up her not-best-friend-anymore but friend-at-the-time at a pool party, which was totally not true.

It really would have been the end of that if Demi hadn't realized on, like, her fifth day of high school, that maybe only half of that rumor was a lie. But the thing about rumors is there's something truly pathetic about having one about you, one you worked hard on driving to the ground, be true. So Demi's never told anyone except Joe. So Demi's never told Selena.

And honestly, sometimes she thinks it's for the better.

 

*

 

Selena has a date with Nick.

"It's not a date," she says with a self-conscious shrug. "It's just lunch."

"It's a lunch date, it counts as a date," says Demi, not feeling very supportive. Doesn't mean she can't state the truth: Selena has a date with Nick, where they will get to know each other over food and without the shadow of Miley hanging over their heads (well, maybe her ghost, a little, if Joe's right about Nick, but not her shadow) to keep them from reaching out over the table for each other's hand.

It's not the hand-holding that bothers her, it's the principle of the thing.

"I need to tell you something," she blurts out. It mustn't sound very alarming, because Selena barely spares her a brief glance before returning to her nails.

"What?" asks Selena.

She's gaining momentum. Seriously, she is. She should take this chance and tell Selena how she feels for her before the whole situation goes from 'might cause freak-out' to 'will end in cheating and/or freak-out', and then the chance of Demi being the only one who gets hurt would go from 80% to like, 30%, and Demi doesn't mind hurting people, like in general, but Selena? Selena's off-limits, look and don't touch, or maybe don't look either, pain-wise. Life-wise, Demi probably wouldn't mind if no one ever looked at Selena like she looks at Selena, and that's—that's just great, now she feels bad. Maybe instead of telling her how she feels, she should ask for permission to undress Selena with her mind. Retroactive permission. Forgiveness, whatever.

"I don't think Nick is right for you," she says instead.

Selena looks up, narrows her eye. "What do you mean?"

"He's—Joe told me Nick's still, like, on the rebound."

Selena frowns. "Joe's not the most observant guy in the world. You should know, you were involved in that whole Taylor debacle."

"Just because he can't understand Taylor doesn't mean he can't understand his brother. They're a close family. Plus Joe's dating Taylor now."

"Because he was wrong about her. Like he can be wrong about this."

"I don't think he was wrong about her," Demi points out, "and I don't think he's totally wrong about Nick and Miley either."

Selena shrugs, isn't really paying attention. Maybe she's not seeing it. Maybe she just doesn't care.

"Just be careful," Demi says.

 

*

 

Demi kind of hates Taylor Swift.

It's not hate like she has a list of things that are wrong with her or anything. Taylor's a sweet girl, Demi's sure. She doesn't wish death on her, anyway. But the first time Demi talked to Taylor, Taylor kept looking at her like Demi was there to steal everything from her even though she was only taking her role in the play because Taylor had broken a leg while riding horses, which had nothing to do with Demi at all, and Demi's not very good at liking people who think badly of her for no reason.

She's always been vaguely aware that there was a spark of some sort between Taylor and Joe, but she always sort of thought that hey, summer lovin', happened so fast, but apparently left something hanging, because Taylor moved here at the beginning of last year with all the intentions of going back north for college, but she's still here, and now she's dating him.

Which seems just par for the course, if you think about it.

Joe actually likes her—seems happy when he has to leave because he's meeting her—but Demi feels a lot like, once Joe finds his niche in college, there's gonna be trouble in paradise.

Demi doesn't full-out hate Taylor, but Taylor doesn't seem to deal well with people having priorities other than her, and Demi'd rather see a break-up between them than some kind of arrangement where Taylor gets what she wants and he loses all his friends.

Friends like Demi, who need him to keep some semblance of their sanity intact.

"I told her," she says to him.

He nods earnestly. "You did, huh? What did she say?"

"She said you've been wrong before."

Joe frowns.

Demi frowns back.

"What exactly did you tell her?"

"About Nick."

Joe's face falls. "Right."

"Don't look at me like that," says Demi. "She's excited about your stupid brother."

"I think you just misplaced the blame there."

Demi waves him off. "Seriously, lover's spat. He breaks up with Miley, she whines, he flirts with somebody else, she whines, she flirts with somebody else in front of him, and then they make out where they think I can't see them."

"This is different than their other break-ups and you know it."

Demi glares up at him. "It is. It is now, but it's not. Miley was all girl power for about three days and now she's whining again. And I can't tell Selena because she'll think I'm jealous or something."

"You are jealous."

"That's different."

Joe rolls his eyes. Then, he opens his mouth.

"Don't say it."

Joe shrugs in defeat. "Fine. But I'm thinking it."

He has a point there.

 

*

 

Demi doesn't have much of a princess complex, but sometimes she wishes she could throw a masquerade ball just for the anonymity. Because it's not like she wouldn't recognize Selena's mouth anywhere, after all the time she's spent staring at it, but it's kind of like pretending to be drunker than you actually are (which she can't do because, for all intents and purposes, she does not drink alcohol): the myth (that you can actually be so drunk you don't remember in the morning, that a tiny mask may be enough to cover a person's identity) is ingrained into society enough that you can get away with claiming to having fallen victim of it.

And then Demi could kiss Selena, and somehow calculate the right timing to say she thought it was somebody else under that mask so that it a) seems true, but b) gives her a large enough span to read Selena's reaction.

The homecoming dance does nothing for Demi.

She meets up with Selena at the drinks table.

"Where's Nick?"

"Off with Miley," says Selena standoffishly.

It takes Demi a second to realize what this means. "Oh, boy." Namely, that Nick's ditched his date. His date who is Selena.

Selena lets out a frustrated breath. "Yep. I don't even—" Her eyes suddenly widen, and she's not looking at Demi anymore—she's looking somewhere behind her.

Demi turns around to figure out what it is. "Are they—"

"Dancing," Selena states.

"He looks like a lovesick puppy."

Selena doesn't answer.

Demi turns to her. "What?"

Selena looks at Miley and Nick sway until his face comes within view again. Then she looks at Demi.

"You're not using me to make them jealous."

Selena blinks a couple times, shakes her head. "No, no. I just," she whispers, looking confused. "I'm just—" she says, and walks off.

 

*

 

Demi's attending this particular dance with Joe.

She's pretty sure Taylor has no idea, and it's not because Taylor thinks high school dances are below her or she's way past them or anything mature and reasonable like that. Not that Demi can really talk about mature and reasonable.

"I think I just implied something," she says.

Joe tilts an eyebrow at her. "What kind of imply?"

"I'm not sure. Something about lesbians."

"Well, that's good, right? You're still in one piece."

Demi narrows her eyes. "...I don't know. She walked off."

"Was she running?"

Demi shakes her head.

"Then you're still in one piece." Joe smiles, lifts his fist celebratorily. "Right?"

"It wasn't that obv—I mean, like. I sort of let it slide—accidentally—that us dancing together might be misconstrued as something other than friendly? And she walked off. _But_. Maybe I'm just being paranoid."

Joe puts his hands on Demi's shoulder, stabilizing. "It's good if she's figured it out."

Demi stares forward. "It's better if she hasn't."

"Either way," Joe says, nodding until Demi's following the motion with her own head, "it's good. You're fine."

Demi takes a deep breath. "I'm fine," she echoes.

And that's when, across the room, she locks eyes with Selena.

Selena offers a half smile—apologetic, Demi thinks, curious, confused, forgiving, leading, _she can't tell_—and heads for the garden.

Demi follows.

 

*

 

Selena doesn't bother with benches—she just goes ahead and sits on one of the swings.

"Did you want to make Miley jealous there?"

Demi's face falls. "No."

Realization seems to shine brighter in Selena's eyes now, like the result of a trick question, and Demi wishes she was a little less honest, more closed off to the world. To everyone.

She takes a step back.

Selena takes a step forward, off the swing, and grabs her wrist. "Wait."

Demi does her best to look straight at her, tilts her head slightly in question. A cricket chirps.

"It wasn't—it's not your fault."

Demi's not sure if what settles in her stomach is disappointment, or fear, or if she's just skipped ahead to pain. "Why, thank you, Selena, that's so accepting of you."

"That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean?"

"You didn't imply anything," Selena says. "Well, not how you think. I've seen you look at me like that."

"Like what?" Demi asks, for whatever reason trying to sound oblivious, like there's any dignity left for her to salvage.

"Like Nick looks at Miley."

"Like Nick—" begins Demi. Lovesick. More sick than loving, here. There's a lump in her throat, a hint of nausea.

Selena's hand is resting on her hip, now. Demi's not sure how it got there. Demi's not sure about anything right now, except the blood rushing through her head as Selena takes another step, infiltrates Demi's personal space. Demi has to look down to meet her eyes—Selena's taken off her heels at some point. They're on the grass.

Demi thinks she would have noticed that, maybe, in different circumstances. There's something about Selena kicking off her shoes; Demi couldn't saywhy, but it's heartwarming somehow.

Selena leans in, first and only. Demi's a doer, but she hates imposing, and this is still imposing, no matter what Selena's doing—no matter that Selena runs her tongue softly across her lower lip and looks at Demi's barely open mouth, thoughtful. That's still her limit, the line she won't cross.

Not even when Selena closes her eyes and touches her lips to Demi's, her thumb stroking the skin near Demi's ear.

"You're on the rebound," Demi whispers against her mouth.

Selena backs off an inch, two inches. Stays put. "He barely even held my hand all week."

"But there were feelings involved," Demi says.

Selena laughs breathlessly. "That's—yeah, there were," she says, and kisses Demi again, just a peck, like she can't help it. She pulls her closer.

"I'm your best friend," Demi whispers.

"I know."

"I can take it."

"You're missing an if. You can take it if."

"If you're not—"

"But I am."

Demi takes a deep breath and buries her hand under Selena's hair. It feels good from this angle, to kiss, not to hug.

To kiss.

She almost wants to pinch her own cheeks. Selena has so much explaining to do.

For now, though, they're dancing. In the garden, barefoot, and then inside, heels on, hoping to make somebody jealous.

It doesn't matter who, it's not about who. It's one of those things, just like the way it's comforting to breathe in the scent of her own shampoo on Selena's hair, breathe in not wanting to make a stand here. Just bask in knowing, knowing there's this, maybe, if neither one of them is totally off-base.

Demi hopes no one spiked the punch.

Demi hopes Selena's read this the right way.

 

*

 

It's not the brave thing to do, but it seems like the only harmless one to Demi.

_how's the hangover??_ she texts.

In the wake of her finally dealing with the issue, she debates between getting in the shower or staying in bed until one in the afternoon, which eventually takes Demi to that contemplative, thought-posing position where she tries to figure out whether she should be happy things turned out well, or terrified there _is_ a hangover on either part.

She doesn't have time to pick one before Selena texts her back: _what hangover?_ The subsequent conversation goes something like this:

Demi: _the emotional one_  
Selena: _i was perfeclty sober last night_  
Demi: _you were high on heartache bb_

And then Demi's phone rings. "Yeah?"

"I was not high on anything."

Demi chuckles. "Yeah, right."

"Are you trying to let me down easy now? I thought that was my job in this situation. Since I was the slow one."

Terrified is winning points. "I don't think you understand what letting people down easy means," she jokes instead. "Hint: it doesn't involve putting your tongue in their mouth."

"I did no such thing."

Demi raises her eyebrows.

"Are you raising your eyebrows?"

"That was creepy."

"That was _perceptive_."

"Whatever you say, kid."

"I think what I'm saying," Selena begins promptly, but her voice calms down before she says, "is don't freak, okay?"

Demi's a second too late in answering, "I'm not," to be convincing.

"I know you are, don't lie to me. It's not pretty," Selena says, and quickly adds, "I want to give this a go, okay?"

"Another one?"

Selena ignores her. "There's more spark between you and me than there could ever be between a Jonas and anyone."

"I'm starting to think you haven't come down from the heartache yet," Demi jokes, though it's less to hide her nerves now and more because that's the way she is. She also kind of wants to write a song about it. For the record.

"I was never hurt there," Selena points out. "I was annoyed. I think I had the right to. And I should be annoyed at you too, but clearly I have spoiled you with my observational skills, so I'll let it slide. This time."

"You're so full of yourself," Demi says, and thinks that could be a good starting verse. Begin hard and explain until something seemingly bad turns out to be a good thing. She makes a note.

"So how's it gonna go, hm? Solo? Duet? _I found love, didn't even know I needed it._ La di _da_, _never even crossed my mind_, bobbing your head like a hick with a guitar?"

"I think that's your part."

Selena snorts. They should be having this conversation in person—maybe on stage, in the interest of full disclosure. Because it seems easier to be honest through song—for Demi, at least. "You saying you're not down with it, Demetria?"

Demi shakes her head and sighs. "I'm down with it, all right." Even if this doesn't work out, even if they see each other and Selena realizes that there's more to taking this step than kissing romantic friendship-style, it's all out now. It's a good thing.

"Good. And let's not go overboard on the metaphors, okay? It's hard for people to bob their head along to poetry. Lessens our sales."

Demi chuckles, because really, that's the only thing she can do.

"Laughing, see, that would be okay. I can remix that."

Selena does still cheer in her own way.


End file.
